Labyrinths of Mind Episode 01 Rebound
by AughraOfEarth
Summary: Running from roughly 5 minutes after the operatic end of "Blake", this episode gets most of its cast up from apparently dead on the floor, and back on the road to further adventures. Rated M for graphic violence, language, and mature context.
1. Chapter 1 Gauda Prime

**Author's Note**:

As Beverly Sills allegedly once said to Linda Ronstadt, on the subject of her being thrilled at the opportunity to sing the role of Mimi in La Bohème: _"You and every other mezzo, honey…" _

For anyone who's ever been a hot _Blake's 7_ fan, writing a 5th season for this operatically ended series has odds-on at some point made their list of things they'd like to do before they die, and waay back in 1997, I dug into my attempt at it. Never finished, like most such efforts—but I did get an outline laid down for most of a 12-episode series, with three eps written and a fourth drafted.

All the usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing of the original properties here. This was written to relieve my fannish frustrations at the time, and I release it into the wild with no hope beyond that it may amuse passers-by.

* * *

**Chapter 1 Gauda Prime**

Around her all was darkness, cut with a smoky, pulsing red light, and close around her, the smells of battle.

Dazed, Arlen pulled her free hand towards her. Pushed out, confused, in an effort to raise herself. Slipped and fell hard on her elbow, as her fingers slid in wetness on the floor. The warm stickiness and smell of blood. Too much blood, and somewhere near her, fire, a thin, acrid smoke filling the air. _But how?_ she thought muzzily.

She opened her eyes as a shower of sparks burst from the nearest conduit column, in a crackle of shorting circuitry. Wincing, she bowed her head, drew a rasping breath, and determined not to retch. Stronger, now, the unmistakeable sounds and odours of death. But not hers. Beyond the dull pounding in her head and aching neck, scraped elbow, and the stiffening bruise across her cheek, she was unhurt. Nothing that mattered, next to the shambles made of her mission.

Stubbornly gathering herself again, she pushed up, twisted under the dead weight pinning her legs. The corpse of a Federation trooper, the mask beneath his helmet torn half away. Another lay beside her. Blood still pumped slowly from the wound in his chest, his breathing thick with bubbles from a torn lung. It choked and halted as she stared, stunned, into the reddened darkness. In front of her a third soldier knelt beside Blake s body, head bowed, moaning, one hand clutching the shattered arm from which his energy rifle still hung tangled in its sling.

Beyond him lay a circle of slumped, black-uniformed bodies. Half a dozen? Eight? More, scattered by the steps where the rest of the rebels had fallen. Some still moving, trying to move, crying weakly. More not. In a corner, one man trying to scream, and another gagging, sickened, beside him. In the distance shouting, angry, unintelligible.

_Chaos_. In how many _minutes? _ She couldn't have been unconscious that long. Time for the first squad to break through to the tracking gallery, cut down the others, surround—_him_. Her gaze fell to the man in black and silver fallen, twisted, on the floor beside Blake. _Avon_. The last thing she could have expected. Now too clearly the last thing any of them had expected.

Her mission had been to confirm that Blake was here on Gauda Prime, and to take him alive if she could. The galaxy's most wanted criminal. The terrorist revolutionary who had almost brought down the Federation, with the destruction of its central control complex on Star One. The man who had lowered its defenses to the Andromedan invasion fleet. For two years Security had pursued every hint, every rumour as to his whereabouts. Almost got him, him and his ragtag band of rebels, on Morpheniel a year before. When rumour had placed him here as a bounty hunter, she had come. Three months' careful setup, establishing herself as a killer and would-be revolutionary. Worthy of his hunting in either persona.

Wasted effort, for the scarred, pathetic failure she had found, but found him she had, and been ready to count coup on his grubby hide. Six hours, to call in the pacification force. Less than half an hour remaining, and _he _had arrived, and in seconds, it had been over. Blake dead on the floor, and now—could she even hope for his killer's life in exchange? If he still breathed, she couldn't see it from where she lay, and there were limits to the charge even a strong man could absorb, and live. Limits too likely exceeded, for this one. _Damn you!_ she thought. No justice, in that peaceful expression.

She snapped around as another body stirred, beyond the one still pinning her feet. One of the others...the bastard who had hit her. _Of course... Weapons set for stun. As ordered_. There _might_ be a chance to salvage this mess.

She twisted urgently, kicking herself free of the body as she looked for her sidearm. He had to have taken it, but the way he had fallen—_there!_ It was on the floor. Beyond the trooper beside her, almost against the far wall. She scrambled to retrieve it, lost her balance and fell dizzily, reaching, rolling. If that one were recovering, the others could not be far behind, and the weapon Blake had given her could be set to kill.

Behind her, Vila started as the corpse struck him, stared up into the trooper's ruined face, and rolled away with a yell. Pushed himself up and stared in horror, shut his eyes and wrenched away, instinctively hugging himself. No way the man could be alive, that deep a wound torn in his throat. _Plasma charge..._ He wiped his palm against his sleeve, shaking, and thought: _Avon_. Squinting in the murky air, he took in crumpled, black-uniformed bodies. A lot of them, no telling how many in the shadows. A few still moving. One man kneeling, swaying, dazedly gripping his shoulder, near the two bodies at the centre of the ragged circle. One in scruffy browns and a once white shirt, flat on his back and all too clearly dead. No surviving three plasma bolts taken straight to the gut.

_Oh, Blake_, he mourned silently, _two years believing you were dead, and now you are..._ And fallen beside him, pale and still as death, Avon. Eyes closed, his face peaceful, the rifle still cradled loosely against his arm. _Oh, Avon, what a moment for you to have gone completely mad._

Near their feet, Soolin lay unmoving, her long hair fallen in a veil across her face, blaster still clenched in her fist. If she was alive, there was no telling it in this pulsing light. No telling Dayna's fate, either. Where she lay in the furthest corner of the room, his view of her blocked by a trooper s corpse, she could be alive or dead. But Tarrant, lying half-raised against the steps leading down into the gallery—alive, and recovering.

As Vila watched, he opened unfocused eyes, caught breath, and struggled to sit up. Pressed a hand to his injured leg; gasped, visibly fighting down the pain, then pushed on, grimacing.

"Ah—!" he said at length, lifting his head. He looked across to where Vila knelt, watching him. "Vila..." He stopped. "...don't move."

"Don't _move?_"

"That's right!" a voice rapped harshly, behind him, and instinctively, he turned. The woman he had hit, rising from a crouch in the shadows. Cold eyes, even in this ruddy light, and the colder, darker muzzle of her gun. "If _either_ of you move, you're dead," she said in a voice colder yet. "This sidearm _isn't _set for stun." She stepped forward over the body at her feet and lashed out quickly, kicking the gun from Soolin s hand as she stirred. "If _any_ of you move!"

"You'll kill us all..." Tarrant said wearily. He brushed at the smoky air, coughing; wiped roughly at the cut over his left eye, as it began to bleed again.

"_If I have to!_" Pure hate in that voice. She sidestepped around the huddled trooper, not taking her eyes off them, and gingerly, Vila sank back on his heels. "After what he's done, I need you alive—but I don't need _all_ of you." Carefully, gun still levelled, she went down on one knee by Avon's head and felt for the pulse at his throat. "If he's alive, I may not need any of you."

"Makes it hard to know what to wish for..." Tarrant sighed, followed her movement. "I'm sorry... _Is_ he alive?"

"You think it's going to _matter?_" Vila flinched as a renewed volley of shots echoed outside the room, followed by a rush of footsteps and muffled shouting. Something clattered, thrown hard, in the passage between the columns, and in terror he threw himself flat, arms over his head. Beside him, Tarrant followed suit with a cry, as the room shuddered with the force of an explosion and the air filled with flying debris.

With a second, less violent report, a cloud of dense smoke boiled out of the upper gallery, smoke through which poured the uneven clatter of booted feet, and the snap of energy rifles charged for firing.

Above them, a masked trooper burst through the white vapour, energy rifle at the ready. More flooded into the gallery from its sides, spread out, circling fast.

Still kneeling, Arlen threw out a forbidding hand. "Stop!" She glared at the man as he froze in surprise. "I'm Arlen!—Major, Division One!" As his rifle snapped up, she lowered her sidearm and pointed. "Keep those three where they where they are, and watch out—there's another one, female, somewhere on the floor behind me!" She rose as a Federation troop captain, masked and ominous in his black leathers, strode between the columns at the top of the steps. "Troop leader! Are you in command of this force?"

"I am," he said flatly. You, I take it, are our contact."

"I am." She lifted her head. "Major Arlen, attached to the pacification program under Commissioner Sleer."

"And at the moment, the least of my concerns." He surveyed the room, came slowly down the steps, turned abruptly to the nearest trooper. "Well, what are you waiting for?! This area is secure! Get the medical team in here!" To another, "You! get that fire out, step up the ventilation, and get the lights back on!" Frustrated, he fanned the air in front of him with a gloved hand, then unmasked and pushed up his visor. Stepping carefully, circled among the bodies, face tight with anger. "Damn the woman," he said grimly, under his breath. "I knew this would happen!"

"Sir!" The man at his feet, checking for signs of life, looked up. Didn't quite glance at Arlen, warning, as the officer scowled down at him. "At least you got the medics to back us up."

"Much good it does the men these scum have killed!" He turned on her, across Blake's body. "Was it worth it? Can you tell me this has been worth our lives?"

"Is any rebel's life worth one of ours?" she snapped back. She could have him, for that question so close to treason, but in this room, at this moment, it could be her destruction, and so nearly in the heat of battle, it would otherwise be that of a loyal man.

"Your target is dead!"

"His killer will serve as well," she said coldly, "and he _may_ live, if your medics get here quickly. When they do, he has priority."

"Then he may die, if I choose to leave him," he said, livid, eyes fixed on hers. "My priority is my men."

"Your men are dead! Except for those who will survive on their own—and your priority is _loyalty_." More than an edge of warning, there. "This one and his friends are as wanted as Blake was, and the Commissioner will want them all." Looking down, deliberate. "For her, this one may even _be_ worth it." She threw back her head, staring at him, as the lights came on, and more men picked their way into the gallery, medic greys among the black. "So what's your answer?"

"Have your way!" he said grimly. "See that he lives! See that they all live—but then, if Commissioner Sleer doesn't want them, rest assured that I will."


	2. Chapter 2 Recovery

He had thought it was over, and been grateful.

Jolting; a dizzying alternation of darkness and bright lights, blurring in a haze of pain. Heat and cold; the urgent murmur of strange voices against the roar of powerful engines, and distantly, the sound of someone weeping. Darkness giving way to a leaden aching in his chest. Again blurred warmth and the professionally swift touch of careful, strong, and ungentle hands. More pain, lights too bright, sounds too harsh. For a time, an aching need for tears, and no breath to shed them with. Then, with sudden, searing pressure, air, and a slow fade to darkness.

In time, darkness softening to dullness. Gentler hands, voices still unfamiliar and blurred with distance, but quiet and not unkind; warmth, and blessed silence.

Slowly, realization in the rhythms of light and dark re-established: the patterns of a hospital. Of being cared for; moved, bathed, clothing changed, pillows and bedding shifted to make him more comfortable. Voices, more familiar now, quietly warning him of when to expect hurt, and when not.

Finally, light. Light pouring through a translucent panel into a snowy room, softened above him by the shadow of someone bending over him. By the touch of a hand lightly stroked across his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. Lifting, ever so slightly, making it easier to turn and look up at the woman standing above him. Glowing pale; huge, sooty black eyes, a wide, red, smiling mouth, white shoulders framed in a startling froth of red drapery above a sleek black jumpsuit, black as her brushcut hair. A hard, serene, and only too familiar smile.

"Well, hello, Avon." That familiar, husky voice, tender with irony.

"Servalan..."

"You _are_ awake. At last." Again she traced his cheekbone with the side of her thumb, tenderly as a kiss. He closed his eyes, not quite suppressing a shudder. Tensed his hands, feeling the restraints that pinned his wrists to the low railings at the sides of the bed. Soft, but unbreakably solid. His left further encumbered by a doubled line of tubing, needles taped into the back of his hand.

"Ohh," she cooed, her tone gently sardonic. "Now, _what's_ the trouble?"

"_Guess_." Not quite strong enough for a snarl, and his voice was husky, throat sore. He pulled harder at the restraint on his left wrist, uselessly; gasped as the effort sent an equally familiar stab of pain across tight shoulders and down his back. "Ah!"

Servalan straightened, turning to the masked trooper standing behind her.

"Guard!" she said briskly. "Undo that restraint and help him turn on his side." She stepped towards the head of the bed, as the man laid aside his rifle. "I would help you myself, my dear, but you do understand—at the moment, I really can't trust that you wouldn't try to kill me."

"Can't you?" he said tightly. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, he tilted his head back to follow her movement, gave her an evaluating look. "You surprise me, Servalan." Meeting her eyes with deliberate calm: "I thought we were agreed—I'm not the sacrificial type."

"That, Avon, is true—so long as you have any sense at all, of having anything left to lose." She considered him thoughtfully, as he let his gaze shift to the trooper reaching over him. She watched quietly as the man pressed his arm to the bed, releasing the restraint from the railing rather than his wrist, and pinned that wrist securely in his free hand, before bending, arm sliding gently around his sore back, to help him turn. "At the moment, all you have is your life, and that is only because I choose to let you keep it. I don't imagine you appreciate that, yet. Until you do, I know better than to let you go."

"What makes you think I have any capacity left, to appreciate it?"

She sighed, eyes amused, assured.

"Oh, Avon, I know you well enough by now." As the guard moved back, she returned to brush his hair, casually; smiled, as he tensed again. "I'm sure you _do_ hurt at the moment, but you haven't it in you, not to appreciate survival. Not to care that you're alive. Not to prefer being alive to being dead. No matter what you've done. Even having killed Blake. Even knowing he hadn't betrayed you."

"I know." He turned his cheek to the pillow, wearily closed his eyes. No hiding the pain, but it shut out the smile, as she bent to lean on the railing and patted his hand.

"Given life, you haven't it in you to sustain grief or guilt, and I am going to prove it to you." A pause. "We haven't executed your friends yet, you know." She nodded, as he looked up at her in surprise. "Oh, yes. They've all survived...less badly injured than you, in fact. They'll live to stand trial on Earth. They'll live to see you, at that trial, standing beside me at the prosecutor's stand. To all appearances a free man, pardoned and rewarded."

"For _what?_"

"Why, for killing Blake, of course." The woman could hardly look more radiantly satisfied. "The forensic evidence is definite. He was killed by three plasma charges from the only projectile weapon in the room. _Yours_." She smiled, reaching again to touch his cheek. "You've done the Federation an extraordinary service, Avon. You killed Blake...in virtually the only way he could be killed, that would prevent his becoming a martyred hero of the resistance, and equally well, your ever replacing him as his loyal former second-in-command." The smile widened. "_Beautifully_ done."

"Thank you." He stared at her, numb. "So for this act I am to be pardoned and rewarded. How do you plan to make me co-operate? You can hardly threaten me with the lives of my friends, can you? Even if you thought it would work, you have to see that we're all killed, given that we know who you really are. _Ex-Madame President Servalan_."

"There are ways." She straightened, eyes focusing on the distance. "Our latest derivative of Pylene 50, I think. That will do for your appearance in court. After that, it will hardly matter what you and your friends know. It will be a sensational trial, you know. Made all the more sensational by my revealing how I have spent the past two years, since the fall of the old Federation." She drew a sensuous breath. "How I was falsely discredited, how the Presidency was stolen from me—how I have yet tirelessly laboured on in the interests of the body politic these many months. How many worlds have been reclaimed, through my devoted efforts. How I have at last accomplished the destruction of Blake, its most dangerous resistance leader. The man responsible for the fall of Star One, and all the innocent deaths that resulted from that heroic act." Again the intimate smile, as she drew back. "With your help, Avon. Your place at my side will discredit you completely." Turning away, a coquettish glance over her shoulder. "I will of course see that you receive the antitoxin, before we attend your friends' execution."

"Your point being?"

"You will stand beside me then, as well." She paused by the end of the bed, a silhouette figure in black and red, against her white backdrop. "Unresisting...a number of my personal guard will be placed where your friends cannot see them, with instructions to shoot you if you so much as look at me with hostile intent. We will watch them die, together. Slowly, one by one. And in the end, you will still be alive, and you will be unable to tell me that you are ungrateful."

"I admire your confidence," he said softly.

"After that, your fate will depend on how sincerely grateful you prove to be, and you should bear in mind that if I am not confident of your sincerity, I am quite capable of enforcing your obedience, either through conditioning, or by having your memories of resistance taken from you. Of doing to you what was originally done to Blake." A breath. "I would prefer not to do that, Avon. You would almost certainly never be the same."

"I expect not."

"So I'll leave you to think about it." He studied her silently, and she sighed again. "By the way, now that I'm assured your condition is completely stable, I will be having you moved to a room in my quarters, to complete your recovery. We're going to take very good care of you, my guards and I."

"Guard, I will have Major Arlen arrange this man's transfer to my apartment at the end of second shift. Until then, no one except the duty medical officer or nurse is to see or speak to him. If he attempts to communicate with either of them, beyond directly answering their questions—" She paused. "Shoot _them_."

"Understood." A soft, New Aryan accent. Servalan regarded the masked figure, sweetly.

"Section Leader Sethi, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Good...now, Sethi, get me the tape from the scan recorder." She watched as he went to the unit mounted in the corner of the room, took up the single extra cassette beside it, and smoothly exchanged the tapes. Returning, he presented it to her, with the slightest hint of a bow. "Ready, ma'm."

"Good." Taking it from him, she moved to the door. "Until later, Avon."

As the door closed behind her, the trooper moved to press the locking panel beside it; a crisp, decisive sound. Surprised, Avon turned, as the man looked round abruptly towards the recorder, then swept past him, swinging the rifle off his shoulder,laying it on the table at the foot of the bed, as he passed.

Swiftly, precisely, he steadied the unit and pushed in a series of buttons. The machine halted, and he turned. Stripped off his mask and helmet, to reveal dark, smoothly handsome features, and walked calmly back to stand at Avon's side.

"My name is Yudisthira Sethi," he said mildly. "I am Sahadevan, and a warrior. Do you look forward to the fate our honoured Commissioner Sleer has planned for you?"

"Hardly." Avon considered him, mildly shocked. "Are you offering some alternative?"

"Nothing of substance as yet." Sethi paused. "I know only that having heard you address our honoured Commissioner by the name of our officially late and unlamented President of the Terran Federation and Supreme Commander of Starfleet, there is an extremely good possibility that I am a dead man. She may be preparing to reveal herself to the galaxy once more, but I have seen enough of her in recent months to know that she will not wish to risk her secrets being divulged before she is ready to have them so. She is not a woman who tolerates anyone having the slightest power to influence her agenda."

"Perceptive of you to notice."

"I have helped to dispose of several of the bodies." The other drew a breath. "I saw being made responsible for security in this unit—the disconnection of central security cameras and installation of a portable scan recorder—as a somewhat more choice assignment, despite the requirement that from then on I cover as many hours of guard duty myself, as physically possible—but in the last few minutes, I suspect it to have been no more than a matter of the Commissioner indulging her suspicions about my own loyalty."

"A matter of arranging for you to know too much?"

"Yes." Sethi nodded. "Her bothering to change the tape makes it virtual certainty that my liquidation is imminent." He sighed, glancing towards the door. "I fear Major Arlen's next assignment will involve my being removed from her quarters shortly after the end of second shift, in a body bag. I expect she would find some dishonourable reason for having had to shoot me."

"Servalan always has had an eye for detail."

"So has Commissioner Sleer. She also spends lives quite freely, especially to put it bluntly those of non-Terrans such as myself."

"Your point?" Avon shifted uncomfortably, pushing himself up as far as he could.

"It does not befit a warrior, simply to wait to die."

"And?"

"You, Kerr Avon, have a certain reputation for creativity. If you can suggest any reasonable plan that might get us both out of this, I would be willing to pursue it with you."

For a long moment, Avon stared at him in blank astonishment_. This is faith_. He dropped back on the pillow, eyes going to his bound hands, and smiled. Not to mention hope and trust. Glorious, and suddenly, gloriously funny. All but flat on his back, and medically stable or not, all but willing to stay there. _Resources down to one pair of hospital-issue pyjamas and my possibly addled wits...and this pretty young trooper expects me to present _him_ with a rescue?_ He closed his eyes, choking back a giggle, then gave it up. It wasn't worth trying not to laugh, into the serenely confident face above him.

It was also too much not to consider. Get Sethi to free his hands. Feign sufficient unsteadiness on getting up, and he might get the young idiot close enough to strangle. He hadn't the strength for a real fight, but a few seconds' steady pressure over the carotid arteries, and...he hesitated, considering the man. The other was roughly his height, fit and well-muscled, but unavoidably a more slender build. Taking him—_assuming I can_—would gain him nothing but weapons_. I don't know where I am, except that I'm aboard Servalan's ship. I don't know where that is, what type of ship it is, anything beyond the walls of this room. Where the others might be, where Servalan might be, any real options... _and Section Leader Sethi had begun to smile, slowly, genuinely amused, into his calculating eyes. _The idiot isn't an idiot._ Avon smiled back at him, and deliberately relaxed.

"Untie my hands," he said mildly. The officer grinned.

"First," he replied, "your word that when you are free, you will not act in any way, to do me harm." The smile vanished, below the sparkling dark eyes. "Not that I think you could take me, Avon, in your present condition, but I like to be careful when I have the opportunity."

"A man after my own heart." Avon gave him a more respectfully measuring look. "I have nothing to gain from harming you, Yudisthira Sethi...assuming, as you say, that I could, in my present condition." A breath. "Untie my hands."

"First your word." His gaze was unwavering. "Your capture has been the sensation of this cruiser for most of six days, Avon. By reputation you are a brilliant, far-sighted, and ruthlessly self-interested man. Fundamentally treacherous. Since the fall of Blake, perhaps the galaxy's most wanted criminal. The ultimate survivor...but a man who keeps his promises."

"Then I give you my word." Avon sighed, resigned. Watched as Sethi carefully undid the restraints, and lifted the bed railing enough to release it. Let it fall and reached to help him, as he pushed himself up. He wasn't quite dizzy, but—almost. The other's arm around him, a steadying hand on his shoulder, was welcome enough. He drew a breath and concentrated on the needles taped into the back of his hand, wincing as with a quick, even pull, they came free.

"Here—" The other slid a hand under his arm, reached to snap a tissue from the holder on the bedside table, and pressed it firmly over the small wound. "Are you strong enough, do you think?"

"I have to be," he said flatly. "Thank you." He shifted, swung round to slide carefully over the edge of the bed, and caught the younger man s sleeve. "Now you can start by telling me what you would have done, if I weren't."

Sethi indicated the recording unit.

"It is still less than five minutes since I stopped the recording," he said. "Had you refused my offer, I would have struck you very hard on the right side of your head, just above and slightly in front of your ear. Hard enough to render you unconscious for at least half an hour."

"And unable to remember the last ten to fifteen minutes, when I recovered." Avon studied him warily. "Then?"

"I would damage the tape, call technical stores, and have another delivered. I would place it in the machine. Then we would wait. At the end of second shift, I would take both tapes and report with them to the Commissioner's quarters."

"To your death?" Steady enough now, to walk, Avon started around the bed, towards the counter bordering the far side of the room.

"It would have been a gamble, but if it failed, at least both of us would die."

"You might hope." Avon surveyed the contents of the modular cabinets over the sink; nothing immediately useful. He turned to the crash cart beside it, began swiftly searching. "Well, then, Sethi—let us say you have done as you planned."

"You have an idea?"

"Is there anyone normally in your section, of roughly my height and build? Anyone you could ask to bring that fresh tape from the technical stores?"

"Someone who could provide you with a trooper's uniform."

"Preferably with a mask." Avon sighed. "If my reputation is that well known, I imagine my face is, as well."

The other smiled. "Just about anyone in my section would fit those specifications."

"Then do it." He continued to slide out drawers, as Sethi pulled out his communicator and drew away to make the call. Finally, a promising container. Avon broke out a couple of tablets from the short aluminum phial, caught the familiar sharpness of a short-term stimulant, and swallowed them dry. "These will help, for a while..." He held out the phial to his companion, as the other came back to join him. "Put this in a pocket for me."

"If you're trying to stay on your feet, try this as well." Sethi pulled a capsule from a recessed tray, crushed it, and pushed him lightly into the small cloud of gas it released. "Breathe in. It's a stabilizer and anti-nausea medication. Inhalant form, gets it to the brain in seconds."

"Thanks for the idea." Avon looked around the room. "How long will it take your man to get here?

"Ten minutes at most."

"You realize we are unlikely to get out of here alive, on our own," he said. "Do you know where my friends are being held?"

"In the brig, in the isolation block, on the next level down from this one."

"Can we get to them?"

"I expect so." Sethi looked briefly reflective. "The Commissioner ordered they be held incommunicado. The two women were originally put in with another female prisoner. She was angry about that. Had that prisoner executed, moved them to the isolation block, then reduced the usual complement of guards to...two, I believe. At the entrance to the block."

"Do you know if they're all right?"

"Well enough, I believe." Frowning, "The tall one—your pilot?"

"Tarrant."

"He was injured. Concussion, and he'd hurt his leg, but he should be fit to move by now. And the black girl—"

"Dayna."

"She was ill for a couple of days, picked up some kind of a virus from that prisoner she was first put in with, but I think she's recovered." He paused. "You must have been out of civilized space a long time, for your antivirals to have worn off."

"We were..." Avon sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Assuming we can get to them, and Tarrant is fit to fly, what are our options for getting of this ship?"

"Is this a standard Federation cruiser?"

"Yes."

"Good—then I do know the layout, roughly. Six levels. Flight deck and sensor array on top. Security, executive and officers' quarters, reserve armoury and medical unit on second level, crew quarters, armoury, and brig on the third. Life support, essential stores and maintenance units on the fourth, secondary stores and ancillary services on the fifth, main drive chambers on the sixth. The final third of each of second through sixth levels combines as a single large hanger deck capable of taking everything from four squadrons of pursuit ships, to a small destroyer."

"That's right. I cannot say exactly how many we carry at the moment."

"It may not matter. Do you know if Orac was taken with us? Imagine a hollow block of ice, filled with flashing lights."

The other nodded. "There was something like that. On the tape from when they brought you and your friends aboard, the troop captain was carrying such a box—but I haven't seen it since."

"Then Servalan has it. Where are her quarters?"

"On this level, two sections further forward. Just behind the flight deck. Why? Surely you're not thinking of going after it?"

"We have to!" Avon caught his shoulder. "That's why I said it may not matter what smaller ships this cruiser may be carrying. If we do not recover Orac, Section Leader, we will _not_ get off this ship alive. Orac is not just an advanced computer, it is a computer which controls other computers. Even if we could get to a ship and get off the hangar deck without it, the moment our escape was known, Servalan could instruct Orac to override our flight program, and it would all be over."

"Then let us free your friends, first!" The young officer was beginning to look flustered. "Free them, get them to the hangar deck, determine whether or not there is a ship we can use, and then go back for Orac!" He caught a breath. "Then, if anything goes wrong, Avon, we can hope for them to back us up. To create a diversion, if we get in trouble, if it takes too long."

"Good point." Avon sighed, calming. "We will be less conspicuous, if we're not dragging Orac with us."

Sethi glanced at his watch.

"Speaking of which, my trooper could be here any time." He gestured towards the bed. "Get back in bed, Avon. When he gets into the room, make some sound—cry out, make it look as though you have broken from one of the restraints. I will ask him to restrain you, while I restart the tape." He sighed. "Then, when he bends over you, you can do whatever you were planning to do to me, until I hit him."


	3. Chapter 3 An Escape Begins

The cell wasn't large enough for any proper activity, but Dayna, Soolin reflected, would find something physical to do in any space. In the few square feet between the cell door and the foot of her bunk, she was slowly working toward the end of her third set of exercises since breakfast. Another of her ancient martial arts, this time something she called tai chi. Smooth, graceful, and agonizingly slow. Too slow to see more than the shadow of anything martial in it, but for her to ever have developed the interest, there must be something to it. Dayna's interests were irretrievably martial. Not that Soolin herself should talk. After most of ten years as a professional gunfighter, she felt all but undressed without a blaster...and a week was a long time to go naked.

Not something she would gain by dwelling on. She sat up with a sigh, as Dayna shifted through her final step, straightened, and stood for a moment, arms loose at her sides.

"You look to have got your control back, anyway," she said, as the younger woman turned and came past her, heading for the washstand at the back of the room.

"Nearly enough." Dayna splashed her face with water, pulled a towel from the dispenser." I don't know how much force I could put behind a punch, though. I can still feel that shot I took, when I push straight out with my left."

"Well, you'll just have to use a blaster for a while."

That got her a smile, as the girl returned and sat down on her bunk.

"As if either of us could hope for the opportunity." She swung herself back, legs crossed, back against the wall. "I'm sorry to say it, but I think Vila's right—they've got us this time. No one on the outside, to break us out of this one."

"Not unless Avon's out there somewhere, in a position to work one of his miracles," Soolin replied. "Which seems unlikely enough."

Dayna nodded. "Making it the best we can hope for, to be fit for our execution."

"Morbid thought."

"Do you think there s any chance?"

"Of what?"

"Avon working a miracle for us." Dayna looked at her slantwise, speculative, and Soolin shrugged.

"Assuming he's still alive, and Servalan hasn't made him a better offer, I suppose there's always a chance."

"You don't imagine she would!" The dark girl straightened, shocked, then shook her head. "No, I can't see him taking anything from her, now. He's lost too much, because of her. More than me, and I don't plan to settle for less than killing her..." She looked up, worried. "Soolin, you don't seriously think he would?"

"Dayna, why are you asking me?" Shaking her long blonde hair forward over one shoulder, Soolin began to weave it loosely into a braid. "You're the one who trusts him, remember?"

"And you don't?"

"Does it matter?" Soolin sighed. _Not past a certain point, I don't...but you don't want to hear that_. "I imagine that if Avon's still alive," she said, "he'll be as well locked up as we are. He'll need his own miracle—" She stopped, turning her head to listen, as a dull thump sounded in the corridor outside. "What was that?"

"I don't know..." Dayna had turned as well; she frowned, then came off the bunk, eyes wide, as two muffled shots echoed outside the door. "It sounds like an attack!" She whirled back to stare at Soolin, as the shorter woman came off her own bunk. "D'you think?—"

"Over by the door! One to either side!" They scrambled for position as the door shot open; froze, pressed to the wall. For a moment, dead silence, then a sigh, and familiar, ironic voice.

"If either of you really think I'm stupid enough to come through that door, think again."

Soolin's jaw dropped.

"Speaking of _miracles_—" Dayna caught the doorframe and looked around it. "_Avon!_" She shot through the door, and Soolin winced at the thump, as the force of her embrace carried them both into the opposite wall of the corridor.

"_Dayna!_" Dropping his helmet, Avon grabbed at her shoulders for balance and tried to stay on his feet. "Mmphh—" he said, past the kiss that followed it. Pushed her back, gasping, and turned as the sounds of a fight came from the next cell.

"Oh, no—" he said, as Section Leader Sethi came flying out, slammed into the wall, and went down hard. "Damn!" He stepped forward as Tarrant followed him, hauling the smaller man to his feet and pinning him. "_Tarrant!_ Let him go! He's with me, you idiot!"

"_Avon!?_" Startled, Tarrant released the stunned trooper, and Sethi slipped dazedly to the floor.

"Obviously." Avon sighed. "Tarrant, meet Section Leader Sethi, who has just been instrumental in getting me out of the medical unit, and you out of your cell. Sethi, the tall madman with the curls is former starship Captain Del Tarrant. The nondescript civilian cowering in the doorway," he added, as Vila thrust his head cautiously through the open door, "is Vila Restal. Help him up, one of you."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance!" Vila popped through the door and bowed, holding out his hand. Sethi took it, staring up in amazement.

"Charmed," he said, a touch unsteadily.

"I don't understand—" Tarrant reached to help, as Vila pulled the smaller man to his feet. Stepped around them, as Sethi warily drew back. "Avon, have we actually some prospect for getting out of here?"

"That remains to be seen." Avon turned to take the helmet Soolin had retrieved for him. "For now, officially, you are our prisoners." He glanced at the two still forms slumped inside the unit's main door. "If you want to make yourself useful, you can drag your former jailers into one of the cells, a little more out of the way."

"Right!" Dayna and Soolin moved to comply, and he continued, "As soon as that's done, we are going to escort you to the hangar deck, for transfer to a ship." Smiling, "We will allow you to choose the most likely ship when we get there. Then Section Leader Sethi and I will be returning to the Commissioner's quarters, to retrieve Orac. If we are successful, we may just be able to get out of here_. Just!_"

"And to improve our chances, I suggest we move." Recovered, Sethi faced them and held out his hand. "If you will form a double line, the women in front—" He gestured Soolin and Dayna into line as they re-entered the corridor, pulled Vila into place and circled the group, inspecting. "I will move out first, then wait for you to pass me. Avon, you will follow directly behind, rifle at the ready. Once we are outside, I will march parallel with the group, on the right, placed so that if either of you ladies were to break away, I would be placed to shoot you in the back." He bowed slightly, making a graceful salute. "My regrets, but we must appear to be taking no chances. If you could all look somewhat more disgruntled, it would be helpful."

"No problem," said Soolin, checking her position and composing herself, blank-faced.

"Happy to oblige!" added Dayna. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Vila, try for stunned non-comprehension, you're better at it."

"Once I have opened the doors, you will precede us into the main corridor, then turn right," Sethi went on. "Straight ahead to the main elevator shaft, in down two levels, and then to the left. That will take us into the well leading up to the hangar observation deck and launch control. We will proceed through that well, into one of the ready rooms overlooking the hangar floor." He paused. "As it is now an hour or so into second

shift, there should be little traffic through any of the areas we will cross. Officially, if we are challenged, our instructions will have been to proceed to that area and hold you

there awaiting the Commissioner's pleasure." He smiled, ironic. "Given my reputation as one of her less savoury errand-boys, that should be enough to discourage attention. Understood?"

"Clear enough," said Tarrant.

"Good." The other moved toward the door. "Then we proceed."


	4. Chapter 4 Plans Unfolding

From her office overlooking the command deck, Servalan considered the starfield projected on the cruiser's giant forward viewscreen. Beautiful—but uninterpreted, only uninforming spectacle. She pivoted her chair, touching the smaller screen beside her, and scanned the position summary that faded in before her. An hour or so from the outer boundary of Third Sector; at time-distort five, an estimated nineteen days' subjective from Earth. From her return to real power. Not immediate, but inexorable now, with the weapons at her disposal. Blake's corpse; odds were that he was beyond revivification, but preserved in cryostasis, identity already exhaustively confirmed, his body would serve her purposes equally well. Avon and the others, alive. Gauda Prime the eleventh planet in a year, to be returned to Federation rule. All incontrovertible evidence of 'Commissioner Sleer's' commitment to the interests of the recovering Federation. Her discreetly well-publicized commitment. Those old fools on the High Council never had understood the control of information, beyond the crudest applications of propaganda.

They had looked only to physically control behaviour, accepted it as inevitable that _people talk_, and the laxity flowing from that acceptance had made it inevitable. They would live to regret that. That and their failure to understand, that if talk as such was accepted, the possibilities of language must be, and that it could become an even more powerful basis for manipulation. In the environment their casual attitudes had permitted, the subtle limiting and shaping of information, the shifting of language to condition thought, was critical. The potentials of rumour, to support and discredit evidence. Evidence of Sleer's competence and loyalty. 'Evidence' of High Council machinations, to discredit and defame Servalan. Evidence of Blake's being both more and less than he had ever been...and evidence of Avon being more or less her ally, in ending the threat he represented. With her arrival on Earth, all those potentials would be released. And then there was Orac.

She leaned back, raising a hand automatically, to finger the crisply puffed folds of her collar. Her arrival on Earth, so close to the time of High Council elections. Nominally a farce, a fiction presented to persuade the people that they still had some voice in the determination of their rulers. The High Council would be surprised, to lose control of their computers on the critical night.

But triumph was not yet a complete certainty. She swung round again to consider the flight deck. The weakness of the system was that so many of her Commission were as slavishly loyal to the Federation, as they were. Loyal enough that until her mission on Earth was accomplished, until the image of Servalan had been restored, no hint of her identity could be revealed. She sighed. Unfortunate, that it had to be Sethi on guard this shift. Thanks to Avon, no longer safe to count on him. Well, it had been a loss she was prepared to risk. The young offworlder had been obedient enough, to her requirements—even enthusiastic, in the beginning—but she had detected a certain self-effacement in his manner of late. Things like his reporting for guard duty in full uniform, mask and gloves included, concealing his identity so far as he could. _Futile effort_. She had suspected him from the beginning of being a spy for the Sahadevans. As a trainee, he had been a little too thorough and systematic in his searches through Federation computers, for the inexperienced recruit he was supposed to be. Time to end his adventuring before he became dangerous.

The communicator at her side chimed, and she turned. "Yes?"

"Commissioner?" It was Arlen. "Maintenance has finished the renovations to your suite. Would you care to inspect them, before we transfer the prisoner?"

"Indeed." She rose and considered it, smiling. "I've been quite looking forward to this."

"The Federation is definitely getting hard up for ships." From the shadowed window of the ready room, Tarrant surveyed the scattering of small craft spotlit in the near half of the hangar deck, and frowned. One battered troop transporter and two mid-sized gunships, one apparently under repairs. A couple of transit shuttles, and a larger unarmed courier. Three pursuit ships on the floor, two more hanging in overhead launch bays. Not much, for a ship that would normally never have lifted without two full flights of interceptors aboard, and could have carried a small destroyer into the bargain.

"Will any of them do?"

Tarrant measured the intentness in his face. "They're all marginal," he said softly. "If we have to go this way, I hope you're right about you and the Section Leader being able to retrieve Orac. Without it, we'll never get past launch control." He paused, careful. "If we knew where we were...anywhere within range of a habitable planet, I'd feel better about trying for a lifeboat. If we could make the launching look like a malfunction, we might stand a better chance of getting away."

"With nothing except our lives." Avon continued to stare out at the ships below. "Those two on the lower right look like gunships—" He indicated the nearer. "How about that one?"

Tarrant sighed. "Not without confirming it's flight-ready. That's a maintenance gantry on the other side of it...no telling what shape it's in. It could be too slow, in any case." He rested his hands on the window ledge, and studied the scene again. "At the moment, I'm more interested in speed than firepower. We need both, but only the interceptors would offer that, and they're only equipped for a crew of three. Those aren't long-range ships, either. Mark Eights or lower, I think."

"Then it's the other gunship or the one on the left." Avon turned. "Sethi, what is that?"

"A courier, I think." The younger man paused beside them. "It's new here...I'll check the status board, see how it's registered."

"Private livery." Tarrant observed. "It isn't a military craft."

"Executive transport," Soolin put in, behind him. "Fast, but no weapons."

"Not as designed." Studying the strip of sensor packages banding the midline of the craft, Tarrant leaned forward. "But they could be modified. A lot of them were, in the outer planets, for smuggling...and look at those indentations along the hull, fore and aft—" He stopped. "Laser ports. Or plasma cannon. And that ship isn't just new, here—it's new, period."

"Making that the one you want."

"I think so." Tarrant turned back to Avon. "The other gunship would have heavier armaments, but it's older and likely to be a lot slower."

"It is also scheduled for an overhaul of the main drive." Sethi looked up from the status console at the end of the narrow room. He returned to it, entered an instruction. "The new ship is listed as a diplomatic courier. The _Damaris_, registered to Commissioner Sleer...interesting." He raised an eyebrow. "Apparently a private purchase. I wouldn't have thought she was that wealthy."

"A recent purchase?" asked Dayna. "If it is, we can guess where she got the money, can't we?"

"That black gold we so obligingly stole for her," Soolin replied. "That would make it an appropriate choice, wouldn't it, Tarrant?"

He grinned. "I'd like it."

"You'd like it anyway." Dayna regarded him in amusement, as he continued to appraise the vessel. "You're all but drooling on the floor." Grinning at his reproving look, "So how do we get it? There don't look to be any guards around, but do you see them just letting us walk away with it?"

"Are we going to get the chance?!" Vila wanted to know. "Look, I don't know if anyone's noticed, but we don't have Orac to befuddle launch control for us, and what are we supposed to do, Avon, if you and our new friend here can't get it back? How are we even going to get into that thing discreetly, even if you do? The main hatch is in full view of the control deck upstairs, and it's spotlit!"

"That may be the least of our problems." Avon turned away from the window. "The chances are that we will not be going anywhere unless we recover Orac, and we do not have unlimited time. How long do you think, Section Leader?"

Sethi glanced at his watch. "No more than two hours."

"I presume you know where Servalan's quarters are."

"Yes."

"Then let's go." Settling the sling of his rifle more solidly over his shoulder, Avon moved to pick up his helmet from the nearest chair.

"Just a minute!" Tarrant reached to stop him, a hand on his arm, half turning him as he started for the door. Ignored the flash of annoyance in the other's face, when he looked up. "Just a minute—what are the rest of us meant to do, while you're doing that?"

"The rest of you will remain here until we return." Avon made to pull free, and Tarrant tightened his grip.

"The hell we will!" he said. "Avon, Orac isn't the only thing we need!" He gestured towards the window. "We won't escape without a ship, either, and the ship we need is sitting out there on that deck. If you think I'm just going to sit here and look at it until you get back, you can think again!" Pausing, "We need a plan, here! The least we should be doing, while you go after Orac, is getting out to that ship and getting the locks open—"

"I agree!" exclaimed Dayna. "If we can get down there, Vila can get us in—"

"Not without tools, I can't!" Vila exclaimed. "You don't get through secured airlocks with your bare hands!"

"Then we'll find what you need, somewhere!" she snapped. "There have to be maintenance shops on the hangar level."

"Fine!" Avon pulled away, stepped past them, turned to face them. "Then you can make that plan, and carry it out," he said sharply. Meeting Tarrant's protesting stare, "Your troops appear to be ready, get on with it."

"And you can stay to hear it out!" Tarrant shot back. "Damn it, Avon, this involves you, too! At very least, we need to know how long we should wait!"

"As long as it takes!" The other was growing paler as he spoke, brown eyes bright with irritation. "If you imagine any of us will be able to escape without Orac, you are the one who needs to think!"

"But what if you can't recover it?" Vila pushed forward. "Have you considered that possibility? What if it isn't in Servalan's quarters?"

"Or what if you only recover Orac?" Soolin added. "What if the key isn't there?"

"If it isn't—" Avon stopped. "If it isn't, Servalan will have it, and we need only wait for her."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?!" Tarrant snapped. He stepped forward, glancing at Soolin, and she stepped into line between Avon and the door. "Do you even have any idea how long it'll take you to reach her quarters? How long you'll have to wait there?" He shook his head, eyes not leaving the other's face. "It's no good, Avon, we need to have a better idea of what we're doing."

"He's right!" said Sethi. Crossing to stand beside Soolin, he faced the group. "There is more. Avon, I think you should not be the one to come with me. If anyone does."

"Why not!?"

"You are less than fit—and there is a way you could be of more use, here."

"That being?"

"Diversion." The other drew a breath. "I agree with Captain Tarrant, that it is as important to gain access to the ship, as to obtain Orac, but there is more. If there is any likelihood that Orac may not be of immediate use to us, I think it is important that we improve our chances by creating as much confusion as possible."

"What are you thinking?"

"If you are at all familiar with this class of ship, you can probably suggest more catastrophic damage. Anything that might spread panic, perhaps even trigger an evacuation—"

"Suggest one of the ancillary reactors has gone critical," said Tarrant.

"You have a point." Avon relaxed. "Do you want to go alone, then?"

"I would rather not." Sethi sighed. "I believe I know what this Orac looks like, but I have never seen its key, and I would prefer backup."

"I'll go!" said Dayna.

"No you won't," said Soolin, flatly. She sighed and raised her hand. "If you can come up with a uniform of some sort, Section Leader, and a sidearm, I'm likely to be less conspicuous. I am a professional gunfighter, and I know what Orac looks like, and its key."

"Then I would be grateful for your company." He studied her appreciatively, and made a courtly little bow. "I believe that might be arranged," he continued, as she raised an eyebrow. "—if this is acceptable, then?"

"I think so," Tarrant said. "If Avon concentrates on the computer—Dayna, you stay with him, and be ready to take out anyone who comes through that door. Vila and I will investigate the maintenance shops, and see about getting access to the ship. You and Soolin will attempt to retrieve Orac—how long do you think you'll need?"

"Twenty minutes to reach her quarters, and get in. Another ten to twenty for us to recover Orac if it is there, and fifteen to twenty to return. A minimum of forty-five minutes, a maximum of sixty." The smaller man paused. "If we find Orac, but the key is not there, assuming that the Commis—ah, our former Madame President Servalan returns to her quarters to meet me at the sixteenth hour, we may have to wait most of an hour. If you could see your way clear to not leaving before the half-hour after?"

"I think we can manage that."

"If we can get into the ship without attracting attention," Avon said, "we could hold out there for several hours."

"Making cover the only problem," Dayna observed. "Sethi, you and Avon are fine, and you can pass, Tarrant—at least they had to give you a uniform, the state your clothes were in—but Soolin and Vila and I?" She gestured at their civilian jumpsuits. "We're hardly inconspicuous. Is there likely to be any place around here where we can pick up coveralls, or something?"

"Coveralls or flight suits, yes, more than likely." Returning to the terminal, Sethi sat down and began to key instructions. "Here are the maps for this level and the one below it," he said, as they gathered around him.

"Along the left side of the hangar floor," he pointed out, "these are repair shops and technical stores. In here," tracing into a room near the entrance to the section, "is a locker room. Those which are not locked will contain protective coveralls and boots, the sort maintenance techs wear." He glanced up at Tarrant. "You can tell how many people are in the section, by the number of lockers with locks on them. They are only locked once personal items are placed inside."

"But how are we meant to get to the ship?" Vila wanted to know. "It looks as though you have to go through the maintenance shops, if you want to get out onto the hangar floor!"

"Through here, the vehicle entrance at the end, or through the shops, or," pointing again, there is an access port down here, which would bring you out closer."

"That one will be locked from the side we ll be on," Tarrant put in. "It's an access from the hangar floor, for emergency use only."

"That won't be a problem once Vila has the tools he needs," Avon told him.

"You hope!" said Vila. "If that's an emergency exit, it'll have panic hardware on one side, and like as not nothing on the other, and that stuff's low-tech mechanical, you can't screw it up with electronic gear—"

"Then we'll find you a prybar!" said Tarrant. "You'll manage, Vila, or rather, we'll manage." He clapped the thief on the shoulder, drawing him out of the group. "Come on! You and I are going shopping, and then you are going to open that door, before we come back to outfit the others."

"That will take too long, for us," Soolin said to Sethi, as he got up from the terminal and Avon took his place. "I'll have to go back with you as a civilian, anyway, or the trooper at that security post we passed on the way down here may wonder who you've left to guard us."

"Agreed." He looked at her appraisingly, glanced at his watch. "If you're willing, it may be easier after that, to obtain a uniform and weapons for you."

"Fine."

"You'd better take this." Lowering his visor, "If you are not here when we return, we will proceed to the hangar floor, and from there to the ship as quickly as possible."

"Good luck," said Dayna.

"Thank you," he replied. "Too much to expect we won't need it."

"Our turn next," Tarrant said, as the door closed. He picked up the helmet Avon had set aside, adjusted it carefully. A near enough fit. Putting it on, he closed the visor, caught up the remaining rifle, and reached for Vila s collar. "Come on, prisoner!"

"Just a minute!" Vila protested. "I can't go out like this, in civilian gear! What if anyone sees us?"

"If anyone sees us, I am a trooper, and you are my prisoner, and we are on our way to a maintenance shop to outfit you with some tools, so you can demonstrate to Commissioner Sleer just how good you are, at opening locked vaults." He smiled unpleasantly under the mask. "If you're very good, Vila, it might just earn you your life."


	5. Chapter 5 Intersecting Machinations

"This should do admirably." Circling back towards the door, Servalan ran her hand across the soundproofing panels that lined the featureless walls of the cabin. Matte grey; smooth, tough, and slightly spongy. Something of a padded cell, under the single bright ceiling light with its embedded sensor array. "I take it that all internal controls and power sources were disabled, before this was put in?"

"Yes, Commissioner." At her elbow, Arlen waited quietly, suitably tense for a new aide, but under control. "Disabled and sealed, when the room was stripped. An extra layer of plating was added to each of the interior walls, as well."

"I thought the room seemed smaller."

"Commissioner—" Arlen hesitated. "Do you think this will work?"

"Oh, yes." She smiled at the woman's unease. "Avon and I go back a long way, Major. I know him as well as he knows himself. In some ways better. In time, I will have control of him."

"Do you expect that you will ever be able to trust him?"

She paused, suppressing a sigh. "Trust is not necessary, when you have control." Stepping out into the short hallway, she cycled the room s lights from noonday brilliance to near darkness. "Wait here while I test the sensors."

From her desk, now placed diagonally across the near corner of the room, she collected the network remote and aimed it at the monitor dominating the apartment's side wall. Crossed to the sitting area in front of it, as the screen sprang to life. Default channel set to the flight deck, as usual. Muting the sound, she opened the second channel window. A view through the ship's forward sensor array. Essential. Third channel, aft sensors. Not essential. She pressed the reprogramming stud and considered. Before she had ordered the first and chief medical officers' suites combined, as quarters suitable to her position, that room would have been part of the medical officer's quarters.

"Track new array, CMO suite, Room One," she said. The scene shifted to Arlen, standing at parade rest in the dim-lit room. "Infrared scan." The screen blanked, then re-lit, revealing the woman in glowing green against the darkness, and she nodded. "Adequate."

She turned as the door behind her hissed open. A trooper appeared in the entrance; a second, behind him, stepping into guard position outside the door.

"What is this?" she said sharply.

"Commissioner!" he exclaimed.

"Well?"

He stepped forward, came to attention and saluted smartly. "Section Leader Sethi reporting as ordered, Commissioner!"

"Sethi?" She set down the remote, frowning. "As ordered by whom?"

"By you, Commissioner!" Surprised, he pushed up his visor and came closer. "Did you not summon—or at least—I mean, Major Arlen sent my relief—" He stared at Arlen as she appeared in the inner door, and gestured in puzzlement. "I don't understand! Major—"

"I gave no order!"

"Then something is wrong!" He reached for his communicator, stepped forward again as she and Arlen stared at each other. Stepped forward, shot the communicator hard at Arlen's chest, and as she started back, crying out, leapt. Caught Servalan's shoulder and was swiftly behind her, his arm whipping around her neck, dragging her back, staggering against him. Instinctively, she tried to scream and drove back further, harder, trying to take him off balance in turn, but too late. He was ready, shifting to brace himself, his grip tightening, and in an instant, the muzzle of his gun was digging hard into her side. In the doorway, his companion whirled, fired, and Arlen went down, her scream cut off as the bolt took her in the throat. The second trooper—a woman?! Servalan thought, in fleeting bewilderment, as she caught the movement spun through the door, slammed her hand into the touchplate, and the panel shot closed.

"Are there any more?" She was past them fast and smoothly, stepping over Arlen, checking the rooms. Servalan stiffened at the crisp tone.

"Soolin," she breathed. "Sethi, you _bastard_..." She drew herself up, deliberately relaxing in his grip. "And just where do you imagine this treachery is going?"

"That remains to be seen," he said quietly. "It depends on how well you answer questions, the first being that of where you have put Orac."

"That one's answered," Soolin said, from the hallway. She disappeared into the bedroom; emerged, holding the computer. "This is it—but the key isn't here."

"Kill me, and you will never find it," Servalan said tightly.

"What does this key look like?"

"A rectangular plate of clear plastic, roughly six centimeters by four, and two centimeters thick, with an embedded layer of circuitry, and a dark grey, circular activator button in the centre. Fits just here," Setting it down on the low table in front of the monitor, Soolin touched the recess atop the machine, and turned to Servalan. "Where is it, Servalan?"

"Do you seriously expect me to tell you?"

"It was worth a try." Her expression ironic, Soolin looked round. "Hold her a little longer, Sethi, while I find something to tie her hands with. Then we'll search."

So far, so good, Tarrant thought, watching Vila sort through the tools above the worktable. The maintenance stores on this side of the hangar had been deserted. Three pairs of dark green maintenance coveralls were folded in the toolcase at his feet, and an assortment of probes, drills, and microlances were accumulating steadily in the pouches of the equipment kit Vila had laid open on the bench in front of him. He might be an appalling coward, but in this much at least, he was competent. Now all they needed to do was check out the accessway to the hangar floor itself, and get back upstairs to the others. Less dangerous, now, with Vila wearing a fourth set of coveralls; to any reasonably trained eye, he was still unmistakeably a civilian, but not incredible as a tech, and more likely as such in this part of the ship, than as a prisoner with an armed escort.

Waiting, he glanced out toward the waiting ship. At this range the gunports were obvious. Special modifications. They gave the sleek shape more the character of an assault craft, than a courier. A commando's ship, rather than a diplomat's. Even more suitable.

"That'll do it." Vila rolled up the kit and shoved a small scanner into his pocket. "Come on, Tarrant, let's get out of here! The sooner we get back to the others, the sooner we can get going!"

"The sooner we can check out that emergency door, you mean," Tarrant told him firmly, "and before we go," he continued, taking the smaller man's arm and drawing him towards the windows overlooking the hangar floor, "tell me where you think we should be trying to get into that ship."

"Where?!" Vila pulled free, staring at him. "Have we got any choice, except the main lock? Out there on the side, in that bloody great spotlight?!"

"Take a look." Pointing to the rear of the craft, looming over them in the shadows. "There's an access port in the back, through the centre of the cargo door," he said softly. "What do you think of that?"

Vila went to the window, studied the port for a long moment. "I could like it," he said at length. "A lot! It's close, it's mostly out of sight of most of the hangar, and unless that hold is pressurized, it could be a lot simpler to get into, than an airlock."

"It could be pressurized," said Tarrant.

"All the same, less chancy. Less chance of damaging anything vital, if I have to force through the locks." Vila rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The hatch on the inside, should be simpler, too. I could like this a lot..."

"Then that's where we'll try for, once we get through that door."

"...which we won't need." Checking the doors from the workshop to the hangar floor, Vila smiled back at him. "Forget that emergency exit, Tarrant. No need to break anything down. Not when there's a panic plate on this side of this set."

"I don't think we'll be using that emergency exit," Dayna said, watching from the floor above.

"Why not?" Avon didn't look up from the terminal.

"I just saw one of the doors swing open, from one of the maintenance shops. Just a little, as though someone were testing it." She shook her head. "I can't believe their security here. One guard station at the entrance to the deck, and nothing after that."

"I doubt anyone foresaw prisoners being at liberty anywhere in the area," Avon said abstractedly. "As, indeed, we are not. Officially."

"True, but still sloppy." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Are you getting anywhere with that computer?"

"Yes." He checked the clock. "Just over forty minutes since Sethi and Soolin left...they should be on their way back by now, and if Tarrant or Vila moved that door, chances are that they are also on their way." He looked up thoughtfully into the shadows. "Another ten minutes at most, and I think we may as well begin."

"Begin what?" She stiffened. "What exactly are you going to do?"

"Quite a lot." His smile, in the blue light from the monitor, was not pleasant. "Their computer security is not much more impressive than the rest of it, once one has access. I've introduced a small chaos program in the system that generates scenarios for emergency drills. It will begin by disrupting power to the lighting system throughout the ship, causing lights to go out in some areas, and to pulse in others, more or less randomly. Fire alarms will sound in any area where there are likely to be concentrations of security personnel, and there will be a series of power surges in the main drive, followed by every indication that the ancillary reactors area about to go critical, and life support systems are failing. Lights will dim to half power throughout this section, and on the hangar deck itself, to improve our cover."

"Sounds entertaining." Briefly, her smile matched his; then she frowned. "But ten minutes?—Avon, that's early! What if Soolin and Sethi aren't on their way back yet?"

"If they aren't, they have either been captured, or are waiting in Servalan's quarters, for her to arrive." He sat back, staring at the screen. "If they have been captured, disruption of ship systems will help by distracting their captors. If they are waiting, it will only bring Servalan to them the more quickly. I do not imagine, given every indication that the ship is destroying itself around her, she will fail to return immediately to her quarters to retrieve Orac. She will undoubtedly hope to use it, to control the situation." He straightened abruptly. "All the better if she does! She will certainly bring the key with her." Beginning again, "In the event that she does, when Orac finds the message I am leaving tagged to the chaos program, it will realize what is happening..."

Still frowning, Dayna came to stand over him. "Is that wise? What if she doesn't have it?"

"She has it," he said grimly. "Orac is power. The very fact that Sethi never saw it after it was brought aboard, tells me she has it...but she will not make an issue of the fact until she is ready to use it, and that will not be until she is ready to divest herself of the power that goes with being Commissioner Sleer. It'll be there."

"It isn't here," said Soolin, looking around the apartment in frustration, then down at Servalan, smiling at her amusedly from the corner of the couch. "All right, Madame ex-President, where have you hidden it?"

"Not in this apartment." Servalan studied her archly. "Did you really think I would? In what amounts to an unsecured cabin?" Her smile brightened. "It's in the bulkhead safe, in my office on the command deck, which is guarded at all times by two of my personal guard. Not to mention that you would have to cross the command deck to reach it, and that at a word from me, you would be dead." She tilted her head. "After all, you could hardly march in pointing a gun to my head, or anywhere else that a single shot might be immediately lethal, and I see no harm in telling you that nothing less is likely to impress me."

"True. Assuming that what you're saying is, and that doesn't seem very likely." Soolin's expression became thoughtful. "No. I don't think it's anywhere that well secured...or that far away. You wouldn't risk not being able to get to it, in the event that anything went wrong. I think it's right here in this apartment, somewhere."

Servalan shrugged. "You've just said yourself that it isn't here. If you don't believe me," leaning back comfortably, "what do you imagine you are going to do about it?"

"Stun you, and leave you here." Soolin drew herself up. "We'll take Orac with us."

"It's no use to you, without the key."

"The key is of no use to you, without Orac." Soolin sighed. "There's always the chance that if we get out of here alive, Avon may be able to come up with another key for us...less likely, that anyone else is going to come up with another Orac for you."

"You won't get out of here, without—" Servalan looked up, startled, as the lights dimmed, and klaxons sounded stridently, in the corridor outside. The lights went red,began to pulse slowly.

"PRIORITY ONE RED ALERT!" snapped a computer-generated male voice over the public address system. "PRIORITY ONE RED ALERT! POWER LEVELS In the NEUTRON DRIVE AND ANCILLARY REACTORS 2, 3, 5 AND 6 ARE FLUCTUATING BEYOND MAXIMUM TOLERANCE. PARTIAL SHUTDOWN OF POWER AND LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS ON ALL LEVELS HAS BEEN IMPLEMENTED, AND TOTAL SHUTDOWN IS ANTICIPATED WITHIN EIGHTEEN MINUTES. ALL PERSONNEL TO BEGIN PREPARATIONS FOR EVACUATION IMMEDIATELY"

"_Fire has broken out in the laser banks on Level 1,_" cut in a computer-generated female voice. "_Fire fighting crews report immediately to this location_."

"That does it!" Pushing the table aside, Soolin stepped forward and pulled Servalan to her feet. Turning her to face Sethi's rifle, broke open the restraints holding her wrists.

"Either we all get out of here, or none of us do!" she said sharply. Moving back, she caught up Orac, and shoved it roughly into the other woman's hands. "Take it! Carrying it will keep your hands busy, Servalan. Try anything, and you can be certain I will shoot you." She stared past the other thoughtfully for a second, as Yudhi sealed his mask and gripped his rifle again. "We're escorting you, Commissioner, to your ship."


	6. Chapter 6 Ends and Beginnings

Crowding into the ready room after Vila, Tarrant caught Avon by the shoulder and pulled him around. "I thought you were going to hold off with all this, until we were all here!"

"Later!" Avon pushed back from the terminal and shook him off, as yet another set of alarms triggered, out over the hangar deck. "There, it's done."

"Depressurization alarms!" exclaimed Vila, in panic. "Avon, they re going to open the hanger deck! We'll never get out of here in time!"

"Not they , Vila, _we_—" Pushing between him and Tarrant, Avon headed for the door.

"Come on!" He glanced back, turned, irritated. "I triggered those alarms! Those doors won't open for another twenty minutes, now come on!"

"Twenty minutes?!" Vila stared at him in shock. "Avon, I still have to get through that airlock!"

"Then get going!"

"Wait!" Rifle up, Tarrant got in front of him. "I'll go first!"

"Be my guest," Avon said, under his breath. "Just go!" Drawing his sidearm, he gestured Vila to follow, waited, as Dayna finished struggling into her coveralls.

"At this rate, we may be lucky not to run into that ship's real crew, evacuating!" she exclaimed, zippering the suit and catching up her gun.

"Then we'll have them let us in!" He moved out, checking, quickly no opposition yet, on this level, despite the activity now boiling on the hangar floor, as flight and maintenance crews fled to and from their ships and ran for the stairwell, into which Tarrant and Vila had already disappeared. No great distance, but enough to leave him breathless, as he hit the railing at the top of the steps, clung to it, gasping.

"They're coming!" Dayna shouted behind him, glancing back. "Something must have gone wrong! They've got Servalan with them!"

"Never mind—keep going!" He started down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing. No more than minutes, now Concentrating on the steps, "I just hope I'm right about Vila having time."

Breaking through the doors onto the hangar floor, Tarrant led at a run, Vila behind him. As they reached the shelter of the overhang at the rear of the ship, he fell back, turning, rifle at the ready. No movement in this direction, yet. Wherever the proper crew for the ship were, they were probably waiting for Commissioner Sleer's orders. That much in their favour. Only as he scanned the area, troops and pilots now running along the uppermost deck—there she was. Hurrying along the level he had fled, Orac in her arms, two troopers behind her. With their guns levelled at her, he realized. Sethi and Soolin. No time to think about it. Dayna and Avon were pushing through the doors from the maintence shop, Avon faltering. If he'd made his escape from the medical unit, he could be nearer his limits than he'd seemed—but he was managing. If he'd got this far, he'd make it.

"It's working! I'm in! Vila shouted.

"Then get going on that inner hatch!" He risked turning to boost the smaller man through the hatch as it pivoted open, then ran to meet the others. "Come on!"

"Has anyone seen us yet?" Dayna wanted to know, as she climbed past him into the hold.

"By some miracle, no!"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Inside, Avon reached back to pull him up. "I imagine they're having enough troubles of their own." Catching Tarrant's arm, he took the gun away from him, and pushed him toward the inner lock. "The flight deck, Tarrant, now! Get this ship ready to lift!"

"On my way!" He turned and ran for the inner lock, now standing open.

"Just another few minutes—" Dayna said breathlessly, as the doors from the side of the hangar burst open again. "They've got Orac, at least." She knelt and squeezed off a series of shots as a squad of troopers ran into sight, past the end of the adjacent transport. They recoiled and scattered.

"They must not have the key," Avon replied, leaning against the wall behind her. "They wouldn't have brought Servalan, if they did."

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Soolin knows how much we both want to kill her, she could just have planned it as a nice surprise."

"Don't bet on it!" He pulled her back from the lock, as the others came running up to it, and reached to boost Soolin through the opening. "What took you so long?"

"So long?!" Soolin ripped off her helmet and sent it flying, bent to help as Yudhi lifted Servalan, and Avon pulled Orac from her hands. "You triggered that program of yours at least fifteen minutes early!"

"And it worked, didn't it?" he retorted, turning to set the computer aside. "You had Orac, and you had her, but you weren't getting the key, were you?"

"No!" she snapped, defensively. "She says it's in the safe in her office, on the cruiser's flight deck—"

"This may or may not be true," said Sethi, scrambling through the lock. A glance, to see that Soolin held Servalan firmly, and he was moving, climbing behind the heavy hatchway to help Dayna push it shut.

"One would doubt it," Avon replied, straightening. "Especially—" He met her eyes, smiling grimly, "—since I can't think of a single time in my experience, that you've ever told the truth."

"What, not one?"

"—and I see no reason why you would begin now," he continued, ignoring the interruption. "You would never have let it get so far from you."

"That's what we thought," said Soolin. "Under the circumstances, bringing her seemed the next best thing."

"It was!" He circled, Servalan turning her head to follow him. "You couldn't carry Orac around with you, Servalan, so it would have to be left in your private quarters, if anywhere—but you would hardly have allowed yourself to be separated from the key, and you haven't, have you?" He reached to catch the elaborately draped collar of her jumpsuit, smiling as his fingers caught a hard, familiar edge. "It's right here." A swift tug, the fold ripped, and he held it up.

She met his eyes unabashed. "You do know me well."

"I _do_." he drew back, dropped to one knee beside Orac, and, still watching her, pressed the key into place. "Orac, are you aware of what is happening?"

"Of course I am!" snapped the machine testily. "I could hardly be unaware of your disruption of this ship's systems! The activator key affects little now, beyond my ability to communicate directly with humans in my immediate environment—"

"—as I am well aware! Making the only question one of whether or not you would have been paying attention! That being established, you can instruct the cruiser's main computer to open the hangar bay doors, and then immobilize any ship which seems likely to follow us."

"I have already done so!" Orac told him loftily. "Now you should proceed immediately to the flight deck of this vessel, and prepare for launch! Tarrant has noted the inner doors opening, and proposes a short-field takeoff—"

"Which we can hear!" interrupted Dayna, as the vibration of the ship's drive began to rise around them. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

"Not her!" Grim-faced, Avon rose and caught Servalan's wrist, pushing her past him, to fall hard to her knees on the plating. "You re staying here."

"But this hold isn't pressurized! She stared at him in horror. "I'll be killed!"

"That's the idea!" He stepped back. "Soolin, give Dayna your gun, then take Orac and get to the flight deck. Sethi, you go with her. Dayna, you will wait inside the inner lock. If she tries to open it, you can kill her."

"Why not here and now?!" Dayna faced him, sidearm drawn. "I've waited long enough for the chance!"

"Do you want it to be that easy?" He looked at her, his expression closing, cold. "Or deny my claim? She owes me a death as well, and decompression is as harsh a way to die, as either of us could wish."

"And we haven't time to argue it!" Soolin exclaimed. Catching up Orac, she looked from the one to the other, then turned and ran, Yudhi at her heels. For a moment Dayna was silent; then she broke and followed, running.

"I can't believe..." Still on her knees, Servalan turned away. In profile, stunned. "this is how it ends." She looked up, as Avon drew back more slowly toward the airlock, rifle still levelled at her.

"Not before time," he said quietly. In your few remaining moments, you might remember Terminal. I have owed you this, since then." He backed away, quickly—in a moment, through the closing lock, and it sealing behind him.

As the outer lock sealed, the inner shot open, and he stared coldly into Dayna's angry eyes.

"She's still alive," he said, pushing past her into the passageway. "If you want to die with her, just open that door." Looking back, "Or close this one, and see if she wants to die quickly, after all."

"If she dies at all!" She pointed at the lock, shouting above the rising hum of the drive. "Avon, that outer lock was like this one!"

"What?!" He snapped around, caught at the wall beside him as the deck heaved with the force of lift. Caught at her arm, as she staggered into the hatch behind her.

"The outer lock!" Still levelling her energy rifle at the door, she caught his wrist with her free hand. "It was exactly like this one, without the chamber between the two doors! Only that one step between them, because it was embedded in the cargo door!"

"Then the hold is pressurized!" He stared at her. "Then she lied—but why? What does it gain her?"

"I don't know!"

"There has to be some way out, some way she can escape!" He looked around wildly, and saw it: hatches, to either side of the lock. "The hold! _Damn!_" The walls, curving above them. Not smoothly, up from the floor. Along each side of the hold, they had recurved into a tubular structure running the length of each side. "Those weren't drive chambers! The ship carries drop pods!"

"Then she'll escape!"

"Only if she can get into them from the hold!" He let her go, slammed his palm into the hatchway behind her. "This is one of the accessways!" The ship shuddered and wove as he studied the diagram mounted beside it. Five pods on each side, an access channel opening on each side of this chamber, and in the hold, "Maintenance hatches!" He grabbed the access handle. Punched at the keypad beside it; ACCESS DENIED, came the message on its display. LAUNCH IN PROGRESS. A muffled explosion, and it streamed on: PORT POD ONE LAUNCHED. "She's done it..."

"We've lost her?!" Dayna caught his shoulder, and he nodded, closing his eyes. Turned and leaned back against the wall, breathless.

"Again—almost. As in 'almost, is never good enough'. She has her life, again." He sighed. "And we have ours." He met her angry glare, for a moment, then turned away, his expression closing. "Again—and for now, that will have to _do_."


End file.
